


Feverish

by lornesgoldenhair



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:51:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3524774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lornesgoldenhair/pseuds/lornesgoldenhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold autumn night the TARDIS parks in Clara’s bedroom and demands she help the Doctor recover from a mystery virus the final stages of which leave him in a rather difficult predicament. Rated M.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feverish

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first 12/Clara Doctor Who fic and represents an amalgamation of Smut and Sick!Fic.

Half term and with it some typically autumn half term weather, comprising largely of rain with wind and leaves thrown in. Clara craned her neck back and peered through a crack in her curtains to the growing darkness outside. It looked horrible out there, cold and blustery and gloomy. She smiled and tucked herself further under the blanket, wriggling slightly so that the soft wool of her jumper stroked across her skin. She didn’t have to go anywhere, do anything, see anyone, and for Clara those times were few and far between. Running for her life or supervising class took up a life and a halfs worth of time on a day to day basis. Now if only Danny would get off the phone and let her have her me time.

‘I’m telling you I’m far too infectious for you to come over,’ she croaked before coughing dramatically into the receiver,’ I need another day, two days even, I wouldn’t want you to catch it.’

She listened as he protested that he probably already had whatever it was as they both worked in the same school. Clara didn’t point out that she might just have picked it up from a different planet.

‘No, no don’t risk it. You’re missing nothing, really, I’m just sleeping and drinking soup. Boring. Really boring.’ She coughed again, ‘Got to go,’ cough cough, ‘bye….’ Finally he was gone and she turned the sound up on her TV box set again. In reality her cold had got better days ago and the only remaining sign was a little redness round her nose, but as far as Danny was concerned it was flu. Nasty serious incapacitating flu. Serious. Intergalactic. Possibly lethal. Clara felt a twinge of guilt but dismissed it with a gulp of hot tea. Everyone was allowed some sick time right?

Barely five minutes into the next episode and the familiar sound of something big blue and spaceshippy interrupted her peace. Clara rolled her eyes at the TV. Inwardly she refused to move. It might be Wednesday but it was half term Wednesday which meant she was on a day off and as far as she was concerned that applied to both schoolchildren and time lords. She heard the engines cool and guessed he had landed in her bedroom but defiantly pulled the blanket up further and tucked her feet, clad in thick socks, under her. Not moving. Both hands wrapped round her mug of tea. Absolutely not moving. Not interested.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Clara’s lip twitched. She tried to subtly look towards the living room door hoping to catch stray movement but it was dark at the back of the flat and she couldn’t see a thing. Finally she slipped one leg down and leaned over the back of the sofa.

‘If you think you can tempt me away to a planet when I’m on my holiday you can think again,’ she called, ‘ I’ve had quite enough peril for this term, I’m trying to relax.’

‘And don’t think you’ll peak my curiosity by giving me the silent treatment either. You can do what you like in there I’m staying right here.’

Another minute passed until Clara couldn’t bear it. Making a show of putting down her mug she huffed her way out of the blanket and off the sofa, stomping sockedly into her bedroom.

The TARDIS stood tall and sealed in the corner, lit only by the streetlights outside and dappled with the shadows of blown leaves in the wind. Clara frowned at it and folded her arms. What was he just using her room as a parking lot now? That was just rude.

She waited a second more torn between barging in and telling him off and returning to her seat and pretending not to care but before her mind could be made up the doors swung open and brilliant light blinded her for a moment. She raised her hand to shield her eyes squinting into the doorway expecting to see him there but…. No Doctor.

Clara crept forward, ‘Hello?’ she leaned a hand on the edge of the door and looked round into the console room. ‘Doctor?’ She hated when he did this. It inevitably meant he’d leap out of somewhere and give her a start. Clara padded forward pulling her jumper further round her and hiding her fingers in her sleeves. It was cold in there, which was odd and she could feel the chill creeping up through her socks. She glanced round the room and up to the balcony where his chair sat empty. With a sigh she began to trudge towards the entranceway to the rest of the TARDIS.

‘Whatever you’re up to I’m not interested,’ she said loudly before muttering more to herself than anyone else, ‘Of course I’m curious anyway but you don’t need to know that.’ Clara peered down the corridor beyond the console room. It largely lay in darkness with the odd streak of light falling from a doorway further down.

‘The Doctor is in the Kitchen,’ the TARDIS announced suddenly in its clear female voice and Clara almost jumped out of her skin.

‘God, don’t do that,’ she snapped into the air.

‘You wished to know the Doctor’s whereabouts. He is in the kitchen.’

‘Well that doesn’t really help given the kitchen and everything else in this place keeps moving!’

‘First on the left,’ the TARDIS said curtly.

‘Since when were you so helpful?’ Clara asked it and was greeted by a sullen silence. ‘What are you up to? Fine first on the left, I’ll play your little Time Lord TARDIS Game.’

Clara turned left at the first opportunity, which as it turned out was around fifty yards down the gloomy corridor. At the back of the surprisingly neat and small TARDIS kitchen she spotted the Doctor, a tall dark shape against bright white tile. He was stirring a cup of something which steamed into the cold air around him and as she approached she could hear him muttering, ‘….and dim the lights, they’re hurting my eyes.’ Seconds later the lights dimmed a fraction. ‘More!’ he grumbled, and again they waned a little. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. The Doctor held the cup in both hands in a gesture that reminded Clara of her own tea, and leaned forward against the counter with his eyes shut inhaling the fumes. He tried to draw breath through his noise and then exhaled with a choked ‘gah.’ A dawning insight came over her.

‘Um… Doctor,’ he jumped at her voice.

‘Clara! What are you doing here? Why are you in my kitchen? How did you even….? I didn’t set any co-ordinates.’ He straightened himself and cast a glower around the room, ‘I specifically instructed you to drift.’ His words fell into a brief dry cough and the TARDIS hummed at him.

Clara couldn’t resist a giggle but managed to stifle it. His eyes swung over to her, brows knit, ‘What?’

‘Doctor do you have a cold?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’

‘How is that ridiculous? What Time Lords can’t catch colds?’

The Doctor sat at the kitchen island and muttered into his drink. Clara edged closer until she could see into the cup and wrinkled her nose at the thick purple concoction.

‘You couldn’t just get a Lemsip?’ she quipped. That glare again this time over the edge of the cup. Clara noted how he had pulled the ends of his black jumper down over his long fingers. ‘If you’re cold have the TARDIS turn the heat up its freezing in here,’ she went on.

‘It was hot before,’ the Doctor said, ‘Hot then cold, then hot. I think her thermostat is broken. I’ll fix it later. Once I’m finished….’

‘Being ill,’ Clara finished for him.

‘I’m not ill.’

‘You’re not your usual chipper self.’ He practically growled at that.

‘Why are you here anyway?’

‘I’m not entirely sure, I was at home nursing my own cold when the TARDIS showed up, you weren’t in the console room so she directed me to the kitchen.’

‘You were at home nursing your own cold,’ he echoed. ‘Of course,’ he laughed dryly, ‘That’s where I got it from, from you Clara, you and your germladden miniature humans.’

‘Perk of the job,’ Clara grinned, ‘ Oh come on it won’t kill you,’ she paused suddenly unsure, ’unless human cold viruses have some fatal effect on Time Lords?’

The Doctor took a sip of his drink, ‘Don’t be stupid, I’m two thousand years old I’ve had more serious illnesses than this and lived to tell the tale. Your pathetic human virus is nothing.’ He sneezed.

‘So you don’t even feel a little bit sorry for yourself?’

‘No.’ He made a point of staring anywhere but at her.

‘So you don’t want to join me on the sofa with that hot drink?’

There was a brief hesitation. ‘No.’ He sniffed.

‘Ok well don’t say I didn’t offer,’ Clara turned on her heel and made for the door. ‘Sit here by yourself and feel rotten.’ The kitchen doors slammed shut.

‘Clara Oswald will not leave the Doctor,’ the TARDIS announced. Both Clara and the Doctor looked up surprised.

‘Ignore her,’ the Doctor said,’ she’s clearly faulty.’

‘Wait why doesn’t she want me to go?’ Clara asked.

‘The Doctor is unwell. He has contracted a virus.’

‘No I think you have,’ he sniped.

‘He’s got a sniffle, he doesn’t need me to hang about for that, anyway his pride is getting in the way,’ Clara said cuttingly.

‘He will need your assistance,’ the TARDIS continued, ‘When the symptoms worsen.’

The Doctor raised an eyebrow to that. ‘Worsen? In what way?’

‘The Doctor will require assistance. The most appropriate assistant is Clara Oswald. I have brought her to the Doctor because she will be needed. ’ And with that the TARDIS was silent.

 

 

The kitchen doors slid open again but in the console room those to the outside world remained resolutely shut. Clara was leaning against them trying to peer through the crack between them or somehow shove them apart.

‘My sofa,’ she whined, ‘I was so comfortable. And now I’m stuck in here with you and your virus and a stroppy spaceship.’ She stepped back and began clicking her fingers at the door desperately.

‘Well you’ll be delighted to hear that at least we won’t be going on any adventures,’ the Doctor snapped from his position by the console, ‘She’s locked the navigation system. Looks like she won’t be letting either of us out of here until we’re virus free. I just don’t understand what the problem is, a common human cold isn’t a reason to quarantine us.’

‘Maybe my pupils have bred some new uber-flu’ Clara joked.

‘Unlikely, although having met a few it would not surprise me if they harboured a new ecosystem somewhere on their person,’ he shuddered and took his turn at snapping his fingers at the TARDIS door. ‘There must be some way to override it,’ he moaned.

‘Is it really so bad being stuck here with me?’ Clara said suddenly, ‘Just wait it out, a couple of days max, we’ve spent longer together.’

‘I thought you wanted to get back to your days off,’

‘Anything for a bit of peace,’

‘Isn’t your boyfriend waiting? Standing by ready to mop your fevered brow?’

‘Why do you always bring him up?’

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply but suddenly winced, his body flinching and doubling as a gasp came from his lips.

‘Doctor?’

One hand on his stomach he made his way back to the console and sat heavily on the stool there. ‘Well that’s unexpected,’ he said. Cautiously he removed his hand from his abdomen and stretched it and its companion out in front of him. Even from where she stood feet away Clara could see that he was shaking. She made her way to him.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘I’m…. not sure. It’s surprisingly painful.’ He held one pale hand in front of his face and studied its tremor before again he flinched, this time his teeth grinding together in an effort not to exclaim in pain. He took a few moments to breathe and then groped for the console, steadying himself. ‘Clara…. I think… perhaps she might have been right,’

‘About what? Doctor what’s going on because you don’t look like you have a simple cold,’ Clara hated that her voice gave away her worry but looking at him as he sat in front of her she was struck by just how white he seemed, his skin almost translucent in the cool light of the TARDIS. She noted how the tremor spread from his hands to his arms and moved in waves across his body which began to shake in bursts apparently beyond his control. He tried to hold himself in his own arms and stop the movement but it just carried on and it all happened so fast that on impulse she reached out and grabbed his shoulders trying to steady him and was immediately struck by how very cold he felt even though his black jacket.

‘Clara,’ he said again, eyes shut, jaw tense and then before she could compensate for him he was sliding, sideways from the stool as the room span for him and his balance gave way. Unable to catch him she found herself dragged with him, landing hard on the floor of the console room. She was struggling to right him again when the TARDIS cut in in her smooth crystal voice.

‘Stage two of the illness has commenced.’

‘Stage two?’ Clara said loudly, trying to prop the Doctor against her. ‘What do you mean stage two? What is this? You’re not telling me this is a common cold?’

‘I never identified it as such.’

‘So what is it? What do I do?’

‘This will become obvious,’ the machine said, and fell silent again.

 

                                                                                                                2

 

After a few moments that felt significantly longer to Clara the Doctor stirred and stared upwards at the TARDIS ceiling. ‘Why am I horizontal?’ he asked.

‘You passed out.’

He blustered at that and immediately began to extract himself from her grip, pushing himself up on his elbows before being forced to hold his forehead again and shut his eyes tight.

‘Take it slowly,’ Clara said, ‘Let me help you up.’

She stood and bent over reaching her arms towards him to help him stand but was met with a glare before he turned and pushed himself up alone. He swayed momentarily but this time was able to catch himself.

‘We should put you to bed,’ Clara remarked.

‘I don’t need putting to bed and if I did I could do it myself, thank you.’

‘Fine not bed then but sitting, somewhere comfortable. Somewhere with a carpet you can fall onto if needed.’

‘I’m perfectly comfortable in here, and I will _not_ fall over,’

Clara sighed. ‘Shut up,’ she said and grabbed his arm, forcibly guiding him down the TARDIS corridor. She felt him sway under her touch and recover, barely, but chose not to comment on it as it would only enrage his pride again. Surprisingly the TARDIS seemed to be in league with Clara for once and immediately around the first corner led them to what appeared to be an old fashioned drawing room.

‘You copy this from Vastra?’ Clara asked.

‘I find the décor soothing,’ The Doctor answered trying to lean nonchalantly against the doorframe but succeeding only in giving away his growing unsteadiness. Clara tugged gently on his arm and reinforced the propulsion with a touch of her hand to his back. They made their way to an old fashioned but comfortable enough looking settee by an as yet cold fireplace. Clara deposited the Doctor and glanced around the room. ‘Um, can you light the fire?’ she asked hoping the TARDIS would continue her helpful streak. The flames popped into life and coloured the walls with their tones. She looked over to where the Doctor sat hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

‘So I’m thinking this isn’t just a cold,’ Clara said.

‘No,’ he said quietly.

‘Any idea what it is?’

‘No,’

‘I mean should I be looking for a cure? Scouring the galaxy for fancy herbs to brew into a tea? Or maybe flying off into the future for a medicine that will fix it? Hey that’s a point do they ever find a cure for the common cold?’

‘This isn’t the common cold and no you don’t need to do anything of those things. It’s a virus it will pass.’

‘TARDIS said this was stage two of the virus, how many stages does it have?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘More than two? Three?’

‘Clara!’ he snapped suddenly.

‘What?’

‘Please….. my head hurts, stop chattering aimlessly.’

‘Grumpy,’ she admonished but she stopped. He really didn’t look comfortable seated at one end of the settee, alternatively rubbing his nose and his temples, his usually rather fearsome eyebrows drawn down into an even deeper scowl. Clara glanced down his body, his free hand rested on his stomach moved in the faintest circular motion. His long legs stretched out in front of him spoke of a heaviness in the limbs which weighed him to the spot. She approached him cautiously like an injured animal liable to snap and perched on the other end of the twoseater.

The Doctor stopped rubbing the bridge of his nose and looked at her over the edge of his hand.

‘What?’

‘Can I do anything?’

‘Such as?’

‘Get you anything? A drink? Tissues?’

The Doctor sighed and let his head fall back against the couch. ‘No, Clara.’

‘Soup!’ she exclaimed suddenly causing him to jerk. ‘I could make soup!’

‘Is it as successful as your soufflé?’ he said caustically, ‘Because I fear it would finish me off.’

Clara’s ego riled at that. ‘There’s no need to be nasty,’ she said, ‘I’m just trying to help.’

‘Is this what humans do?’ The Doctor asked wearily, ‘when other humans are ill? Sit close to them and bleat in their ears when all they want to do is rest. Offer them endless unwanted options for fluid intake? Subject them to a tirade of empathy?’

‘What is the matter with you?’

‘A virus I keep telling you.’

‘No, I mean why are you like _this_? I’m just trying to help, to look after you.’

‘I don’t need looking after I’m the Doctor,’

‘Everyone needs looking after sometimes, even you, don’t tell me no-one has ever made you hot soup when you’ve been ill.’

The Doctor stayed stalwartly silent at that.

‘Unless of course they really haven’t,’ Clara questioned.

‘I can make my own soup. Or the TARDIS can.’

Clara looked at him questioningly. ‘But you’ve not always had a TARDIS, what about back on Gallifrey?’

‘You should know better than to ask that.’

‘Well I’m curious now.’

The Doctor let out a frustrated puff, ‘Stop it.’ Clara was silent for a moment and he resumed his position, hand over eyes.

‘When I was small mum made me soup,’ Clara said quietly. ‘I remember being home from playgroup, or it might have been first school, I can’t have been very big though, maybe 5 at most. I had a cold and my throat hurt so much, I’d never felt anything like it before, or at least I had no memory of it at that age. She tucked me up in a blanket on the sofa and let me watch TV while she went to make the soup. I could smell it long before she brought it through. It was chicken, I mean its always chicken isn’t it,’ she laughed softly, ‘And no-one ever makes it quite the way your mum does, not ever. But the smell of it, the smell of it will always take you back. Back to being little, in that safe place, knowing someone is caring for you….’ She trailed off.

She glanced up and found him looking at her thoughtfully.

‘Sorry,’ Clara said reflexively.

‘It’s not always chicken,’ he said out of the silence.

‘What?’

‘We didn’t have chickens on Gallifrey,’ something twinkled in his gaze and Clara smiled.

‘So what did you have?’ she asked.

‘Well they are sort of like chickens, but they live in the sea and have gills.’

‘Chicken-fish creatures?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does the smell of it take you back?’

‘Thankfully not, they don’t smell very pleasant.’ She laughed at that and he smiled. Clara felt suddenly braver.

‘But you see my point Doctor, sometimes we all need a bit of looking after.’

But he tensed again at that and Clara saw his jaw set momentarily. ‘Sometimes we do,’ he agreed a little sadly, ‘but we don’t always get what we need.’ And suddenly Clara remembered a cold barn and a straw bed. Whoever cared for the young Doctor didn’t bring him soup on the sofa when he was ill. She kicked herself a little, sometimes it was hard to remember just what he was, two millennia old, from a world she would never see, and there she was trying to share common childhood memories. Her guilt must have been written over her face because from nowhere she felt a hand cover hers tentatively.

‘You’re not to know,’ he said and the hand vanished again just as quickly and resumed its place on his stomach. He grimaced.

‘Know what?’

‘Anything about my childhood for one thing, but it didn’t involve being waited on by benevolent maternal figures put it that way.’

‘Time Lords don’t have mums?’

The Doctor squinted at her, ‘We don’t just pop into existence, Clara, of course we have mums. I just…. Well mine wasn’t around long.’

‘What happened?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘You know what happened to mine.’

‘That’s different.’

‘No it isn’t, why do you always have to do this, just speak to me, we _can_ share things you know, I’m not going to suddenly use it all against you.’

The Doctor gnawed a little on his lower lip in a subtle expression of discomfort. ‘I don’t remember, it was a long time ago.’

‘I don’t believe you. I remember every detail about my mum, who she was, the things she did, and how she died.’

‘That was ten years ago Clara, try remembering after two thousand.’ He looked into the fire and Clara sensed she would get nowhere with this one.

‘It’s not something you forget,’ she said a little sourly.

There was a heavy pause during which Clara glanced around the room irritated. Whenever she felt she was getting somewhere he would chose to just no communicate. She was about to tell him again how frustrating he was when she caught the look on his face. The firelight bright in his pupils as he watched the flames and the surface of his eyes just a little wetter than usual. Perhaps they shared a childhood memory after all. He wouldn’t tell her specifics but she guessed at loss. She softened.

‘Seriously would soup help?’ Clara asked.

‘Would making it make you feel better?’ he asked patiently but with the slightest hint of gratitude for leaving a painful subject behind.

‘Maybe?’

‘Fine. Go. Cook. I’ll be here…. Being ill.’

‘Oh so now you admit….’

‘Go!’

 

 

                                                                                                3

 

The soup was a success. Well in that it wasn’t burned, didn’t smell of fish-chicken and seemed to do something to ease the Doctor’s chills. Clara felt nothing less than accomplished although she had a sneaking suspicion that he was indulging her a little for the sake of peace. As the evening wore on he became quieter still and flinched more often with what she could only assume was pain. After a few hours the TARDIS announced ‘Stage Three.’

‘Look old girl if you know what this is do us all a favour and just tell me,’ The Doctor spoke at the ceiling. ‘You seem to know just how it will progress?’

The TARDIS remained resolutely off topic however and Clara frowned. The machine lived for the Doctor. It was a rocky ancient relationship of centuries but ultimately she would never harm him so why the secrecy? She comforted herself with the knowledge that whatever it was it couldn’t be serious or the TARDIS herself would lead the quest for a cure across the galaxy.

‘Alright, fine,’ the Doctor raised his hands in defeat, ‘Keep it to yourself, twenty four hours and I’m sure it will all be over.’ He moved to lever himself up from the settee and Clara came to his side. Briefly he glanced at her as though considering telling her not to assist but then he appeared to dismiss this too and relinquished control to her guiding arm.

‘You’re loving this,’ he grumbled.

‘I like taking care of people,’ she admitted a little too cheerily for him before guiding him out into the corridor, ‘So I’m thinking bed next.’

‘I’m a little too ill for _that_ Clara,’ he said dryly and despite herself she blushed. Where had _that_ come from?

‘No, I mean you, bed, alone, to recover.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Where is it? I’ve never seen it, your bedroom I mean, not that I would have. And again with the saying the wrong thing.’ The Doctor glanced at her curiously and let slip a slightly wolfish grin.

‘Has the heat from the fire gone to your head, Clara?’

‘Shut up!’

‘Here,’ the Doctor said pulling her to a stop,’ I can manage now,’ and he extracted his arm from her grip.

Her hands felt suddenly very empty and the inches distance between them very wide. ‘Your room?’ Clara indicated the darkly coloured door before them.

‘Yes, I’ll be fine. It’s late, go to bed.’

Clara eyed him suspiciously noticing the new sheen of perspiration which had emerged across his forehead from the effort of their short walk and the unsteady way he held himself against the door half leaning half sagging. His breath seemed to be coming more raggedly in shortened pants.

‘Hmm,’ was all she said.

‘Clara,’ he growled.

‘You’re like a bear with a sore head when you’re ill,’ she said, ‘Fine, go to bed, sleep it off, I’ll be in my room. That is if the TARDIS lets me find it.’ She turned and was immediately confronted with her bedroom door. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘umm… thanks.’

‘See she’s not always an awkward old girl,’ the Doctor said and patted the wall before vanishing inside. ‘Though Gods know what she’s up to currently,’ she heard him say as the door swung shut.

 

Clara headed to her own room but decided quickly that she couldn’t sleep. That is to say she had dozed a little fitfully to begin with but she was concerned for the Doctor not least because he had a tendency to play things down when it came to how he was feeling. Understatement of the year that. And it went for emotions as well as physical pain. In addition the TARDIS was giving her nothing despite her playing a series of twenty questions with it.

‘It’s not the common cold is it?’

‘No.’

‘Can I catch it?’

‘No.’

‘So it’s an alien cold?’

‘That is simplistic.’

‘Does he need medicine?’

‘No.’

‘Is it serious?’

‘In what way?’

‘What do you mean in what way?’

‘Define serious.’

‘Lifethreatening!’

‘No.’

‘Are you going to tell me anything useful?’

The TARDIS did not grace that one with an answer.

Clara rolled on her side and looked over towards the bedroom door. As if by reading her thoughts the TARDIS opened it and gave her a direct view across to the Doctor’s room. Apparently it felt she should do something practical rather than worry it with questions.

‘Is he awake?’ Clara asked, the TARDIS would know and seemed to be trying her best to get him better again even if she was being all cryptic.

‘Yes,’

She sat up wanting badly to go through and see how he was but at least half of her thought she’d get quite the telling off from him for invading his space. On the other hand he had passed out earlier and now he was on ‘stage three’ apparently and she wasn’t sure exactly what that entailed. He could be really unwell in there. He could need her. The TARDIS hummed impatiently.

‘Ok OK.’

Clara slid out from under her covers and crossed to the far door that sealed his chamber. It whooshed open softly and revealed the dark interior of the Doctors room. It was hot, horribly hot, she could feel the sweat beading on her forehead already. ‘Doctor?’ she crossed the floor slowly, her eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light. ‘Doctor are you OK?’ The room seemed bigger than she expected and at first all she could detect was a muffled noise from the far wall. A whimper and the sound of covers moving.

‘Doctor?’ hands stretched before her she made her way to the bed, finally coming into contact with the sheets and at last her eyes adjusted. Clara wiped some sweat from her brow. So hot. She paused and removed the soft wool jumper she had been wearing, leaving her in her camisole and pyjama bottoms. As she did so she heard more than saw him move under the covers, a restless uncomfortable movement.

‘Clara?’

‘It’s so hot in here, are you alright?’

‘Bitey. Cold. TARDIS turned up the heating.’ She leaned forward and placed a hand on the closest part of him she could find, his shoulder she discerned, and his bare skin was like ice.

‘I know you time lords have a lower body temperature but that’s ridiculous,’ she said to herself. She traced her hand over his skin and felt the shivers run through his body. He grabbed at her hand suddenly.

‘Cold,’ he said.

Clara began to wonder if he was delirious. ‘Turn the light up a bit so I can see,’ she asked and sure enough the TARDIS obliged although the room was still arguably dim. The Doctor appeared to be trying to huddle down even further under his covers and half drag her hand with him, a source of warmth. Clara was forced to clamber across the bed in pursuit.

‘Calm down,’ she said, a touch of alarm in her voice, ‘I’m here…’ she couldn’t quite believe she was having to reassure him of this and briefly wondered what on earth he would say about it all when he was well. Doubtless he would be snippy and mortified but that wasn’t anything new to her. She found herself being pulled under the covers and pushed them back from his face a little to see him.

He looked utterly forlorn, curled on his side trying to conserve what heat he could as the virus rampaged through his body. Clara briefly wondered how fevers worked in timelords. People burned up, maybe timelords froze? He was suffering certainly, cold and sore, trying not emit the gasps that signalled pain. The small noises in the back of his throat that indicated his discomfort spoke to her triggering recent but for him distant memories. The barn returned to her thoughts. She had witnessed him curled beneath the covers of a bare looking bed, alone, unhappy, frightened, waiting to be comforted by a voice from his future because none comforted him in the present. Something now reminded her so much of that little boy.

‘Hey,’ she whispered, touching him again, ‘It’s OK.’

Clara adjusted her position and settled in beside him to immediately find him scooting up against her, seeking warmth. She widened her eyes at that, it was such an Un-Doctor thing to do these days but then she let it go, refusing to over analyse or compare to the man in the bowtie who would think nothing of it. She wondered briefly if this showed the core of him , when most vulnerable, remained the same under the prickly exterior but pushed the thought away afraid of its implications. Clara looked down at him amongst the covers. The shaking continued but gradually her hands fell into a soothing rhythm as they stroked his hair and down along the line of his neck. They traced paths across his shoulder and arm before retreating and repeating their journey. Slowly he stilled, his muscles untensed, and his skin warmed. Her hand came back to his head and rested there as it had a few months ago, millennia ago, when she told him that fear could make him kind. She closed her eyes and listened to his breathing.

 

                                                                                                4

 

Clara woke and rolled instinctively to her left only to be confronted with an empty and perfectly made up side to the bed and no Doctor. Her first thought was the virus. What if stage four had hit? Whatever stage four was.

‘Oh God,’

Quickly she got up and trotted across the room grabbing her jumper bunched in one hand and poked her head out into the corridor. It didn’t take long to catch the deep tone of his voice drifting from the console room and she followed it through the TARDIS.

‘Look I’m better, symptoms gone, so unlock the controls,’ he protested.

‘You are not yet healthy.’

‘Yes I am!’

Clara entered the room to find him glaring at one of the TARDIS’ screens, arms folded, suit perfect, palor, while still pale, arguably healthier.

‘You look better,’ Clara commented.

‘Thank you now tell her that please.’

‘She still thinks you’re ill?’

‘I keep telling her I’m fine.’ He waved at the console in frustration, ‘Damned woman!’

‘You have not yet fully recovered,’ the TARDIS repeated, ‘Another twenty four hours are required to ensure stage four of the virus completes and you are safe to proceed.’

‘Oh do stop speaking in riddles,’ he snapped. ‘No chills, no cramps, no headache, I’m _fine!_ ’

‘Look,’ Clara said, ‘ you’re not in any rush are you? What harms another twenty four hours? I can make more soup, it didn’t poison you,’ she smiled tried to lighten the moment, ‘Once the worst of a bug has passed I kind of like the recovery phase, a bit of TLC.’

The Doctor brushed past her abruptly, ‘That’s all very well Clara but I _don’t_. Come on!’ he began punching the TARDIS controls, ‘Open the door.’

‘You didn’t seem to mind yesterday,’ Clara retorted and watched as he twitched in response, ‘Ask me you’re a bit starved of TLC.’

‘I didn’t ask you,’ he griped, turning from the console to stare her down.

‘ I knew it, I _knew_ this would happen.’ Clara couldn’t help but blurt out.

‘What?’

‘You let your guard down and now you have to be mean to me to make up for it? I’m getting so tired of this new side to you, Doctor.’

‘Well as soon as we get the doors open you can go back to nice simplistic Danny, heaven forbid he ever develop more than one layer to his personality or you’ll be clueless.’

Clara bristled, ‘Don’t you dare…’

The Doctor suddenly gasped half turning to the console and grabbing at it for balance. Despite herself Clara took a half step forward on instinct.

‘Doctor? What is it? The cramps? Maybe the TARDIS was right, you need a bit more time…?’

‘Ahh..’ he clutched at his abdomen again before suddenly dropping into his seat wide eyed with horror and remaining slightly hunched over the control panel. ‘Oh Gods,’ he muttered.

Clara hovered nervously, irritated but equally concerned. She reached for his shoulder and he shrugged her away.

‘Open the door, now,’ the Doctor instructed the TARDIS urgently.

‘Stage Four,’ it replied.

‘Yes… yes…. Open the door.’

‘Clara Oswald must remain.’

‘No she absolutely mustn’t.’

Clara’s frown deepened. ‘You’re so ungrateful. Why not? If you’re still ill…’

Another puff of air escaped the Doctor’s lips and for a second his eyes fluttered closed, ‘Ooof’, an involuntary breath of a noise. His fingers tightened on his thigh. ‘Clara…. You need to leave.’ Something in his tone was unfamiliar and strained. Carefully she moved closer to him taking in the oddness of his posture. Inches from him she studied his face, his eyes still closed his lower lip clamped between his teeth. He was pained, pained but curiously focused.

‘Doctor?’ she reached out and touched his shoulder again but at that instant his eyes flew open. Eyes that were significantly darker than they had been minutes before with pupils wide and deep and filled with something like fire. At the same moment she noticed a slight flush creep across his cheeks and held his gaze for a second …. Two…. Before…

‘Clara,’ he breathed, and there was no mistaking the tone this time. It was need.

‘Oh….’ Clara exclaimed her blush mirroring his.

‘Oh,’ came his deep response in a tone that rumbled from his chest.

Clara tried to look away and failed, ‘Oh! Well this is…. This is a symptom. A symptom?’

‘Its Frengalian Flu,’ the Doctor all but growled through gritted teeth. ‘It has a very particular effect on my species in the recovery phase. Unfortunately Madam here neglected to tell me this until I worked it out just now. I don’t know what she thinks she’s playing at but when I get over this….. ahhh,’ he buckled a little and turned his face slightly from Clara squeezing his eyes shut again and bringing one fist to his lips while the other roughly gripped the material of his trouser leg. After a moment he spoke again, the choked note in his voice more pronounced.

‘You need to leave Clara,’

‘The doors are shut.’

‘Well go to your room then,’

‘You go to your room, you’re the one with the….’ She waved at his crotch, ‘Problem!’ She couldn’t _not_ see it, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away easily either.

‘I can’t go to my room can I?’ he hunched further over in his seat, ‘I’m a bit….’

Clara couldn’t help herself, she felt a bit hysterical and her giggle burst out of her despite her clamping her hand over her mouth. ‘Bit stuck are you?’

‘Shut up!’ his blush deepened.

‘Well I’m not moving,’ she folded her arms and stared at him. The Doctor turned his head to look at her and she merely raised her eyebrows in response. He groaned.

‘Clara, please, this isn’t exactly within my control at the moment, this isn’t a game and I don’t want to….’ He inhaled sharply and hissed before quite clearly struggling to regain a little control.

Clara continued to look smug. ‘Staying right here,’ she bounced on her toes. And then immediately regretted the movement when she saw the Doctor’s eyes drop to her chest and the very skimpy camisole she was still wearing. Skimpy and…. Braless. Well she’d been alone in her flat! It was fine to be braless there… just not when trapped on a spaceship with an oddly aroused Time Lord.

Clara quickly lifted the bunched jumper to her chest to cover herself and felt her cheeks burn. The Doctor’s eyes wrenched back to hers with some difficulty and she became rapidly aware of him moving out from under the console, fixing her with his stare. Clara backed away slightly, her arms falling to her sides and with them the jumper. Her mouth felt suddenly very dry.

‘Clara,’ he said. His voice sounded deeper than usual and he was in front of her, leaning down, his breath coming in warm waves across her face. She watched entranced as he reached forward and pushed a strand of hair from her cheek. ‘Oh, Clara,’ he breathed in a voice laced with a desire that had been with him a lot longer than the last few minutes.

‘Wait! Wait….’ Clara jumped back a pace, ‘Um… you’re not yourself, you’re er… ill… sick.’

‘I’m perfectly myself,’ The Doctor persisted, ‘Just a little more…. Relaxed.’

‘Doctor!’ she was surprised how high pitched she could get. He flinched and her tone seemed to hit its mark.

‘Sorry, sorry, what am I thinking,’ he grabbed the two sides of his jacket and pulled them together, buttoning them rapidly before folding his arms and adjusting his posture. He stared at the floor for a second before risking looking at her. Clara was still gazing at him somewhat askance.

Without warning the TARDIS cut in, ‘Stage Four of Frengalian Flu in the Time Lord male involves the stimulation of the parasympathetic nervous system and loss of inhibition,’ the Doctor rolled his eyes.

‘I worked that out myself, something to do with the aching lust,’ Clara’s eyes widened and he had the good grace to look ashamed, ‘and of course my inability to keep my mouth shut,’ he added.

‘Aching lust?’ Clara said. He ignored her.

‘When will it go away?’ he asked the TARDIS petulantly.

‘Seventy two hours.’

‘What!?’

‘Three days,’ the TARDIS explained.

‘I know what seventy two hours equates to,’ he fidgeted, increasingly uncomfortable. ‘Wait a minute you said twenty four hours before.’

‘Twenty four hours if you receive treatment.’

‘Treatment?’ the Doctor asked.

‘Clara Oswald will assist the Doctor.’

‘What?!’ Clara’s turn to question the machine, ‘Assist? With what exactly?’ The Doctor’s eyes widened.

‘Open the doors there will be no assisting, I’ll take the seventy two hour version,’ he said.

‘She has been caring for you,’ The TARDIS went rationally in its calm machine’s voice as though the idea was the most logical in the world. ‘She has already demonstrated her willingness to do so,’ and it switched to Clara’s voice speaking the night before ‘I like looking after people,’ she heard herself say.

‘That’s different, I just made soup! This is an entirely different thing! It involves… well….. it’s…. um….’ Clara was about to protest more when the Doctor let out such a low and gravelled moan that she felt a pang of feeling shoot through her gut. He leaned again on the console and followed the moan with a short high whimper. She could practically feel his tension from where she stood and suddenly she was aware of the response in her own body. Tendrils of arousal began to spiral from the core of her and she could have sworn the TARDIS had pumped up the heating a little more. Maybe she was infected after all.

‘Just… let her…. Go…’ he panted, ‘Please…. Uh’

Clara took a step forward. Her heart was hammering in her chest suddenly just at the sound he was making. Half of her wanted to run out of the room cheeks burning and the other, curiously, desperately, wanted to touch him. He was crumbling right in front of her and there was something oddly intoxicating about the usually so controlled Doctor panting over the controls of the TARDIS.

‘No, its OK, I’ll stay,’ she said with another step, ‘ I said I’d take care of you and, I er…. I will.’ She swallowed a little thickly surprised at her own statement.

‘Clara this is a little…. Different,’ another sharp intake of breath and he leaned his head back, face to the ceiling trying to breathe away the feelings. Clara placed a hand in the centre of his back. ‘Oh…. No…. Clara…’ She began slow circular movements just above the small of it. Almost imperceptively he began to move with her, a steady rocking of his hips, Clara bit down on her lip and realised that her own breath shook as she touched him.

‘Clara, you need to stop…..’ he said lowly, ‘Stop now before I can’t.’

The sound of his voice laced with such feeling only pushed her further towards her decision.

‘Turn around,’ she said.

He shook his head even as she slipped her hand around him and onto one hip bone, turning him to face her. As he did she felt the hardness at his crotch press against her stomach and automatically pressed back causing him to jerk instinctively against her body. He squeezed his eyes shut in response, holding back and Clara lifted her hands to rub upwards over his chest.

‘Clara, no, you can’t….’

‘I can.’ He smelled incredible this close and she inhaled deeply, leaning against him further until her nose touched the crook of his neck.

‘No, this can’t happen, its distorted, it isn’t real, its pheromones Clara, I’m emitting pheromones and you’re being effected,’

‘It feels real,’ Clara teased rocking against him. ‘Pheromones are real.’

The Doctor suddenly grabbed her wrists in his hands. ‘It isn’t though is it, it’s driven by an infection and your ever lasting desire to be needed and useful. None of it is real. If we do this we’ll never be able to look each other in the eye again. You’ll… you’ll…’

‘What will I do?’

He looked down at her. ‘You’ll hate me. You’ll be revolted with yourself, hate me and… and you’ll leave.’ He dropped her wrists. Clara looked at him in confusion.

‘That’s not true,’ she said.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘I wouldn’t hate you. As much as you drive me mad I don’t think I could ever hate you. And I’m not just doing this to feel needed,’ she shoved him a little, ‘and you might be infected but I’m not, and a few pheromones wouldn’t make me leap into bed with _anyone_ unless I had some feelings for them, and anyway are you telling me that absolutely none of this was around _before_ you got this bug? That you’ve never wondered what it would be like, you and me?’

‘Of course I have,’ he said before he realised it and then immediately bit his lip. ‘This virus will be the death of me.’

‘I’m beginning to think it’s a truth virus.’

‘Disinhibition, same thing,’ he grumbled.

‘So….’ Clara began to run her hands back up his chest and was delighted to feel his knees buckle slightly.

‘So…’ he replied a little heavily.

Her hands kept moving, undoing buttons, gliding up over his lapels, her thumbs catching them and pushing back his jacket over his shoulders until the red lining slipped down his sleeves and the coat was falling to the ground. At the same instant her hands continued their journey over his neck bringing his head closer, his lips a breath away. She teased him for a second ducking from his reach before his frustration finally pushed him and he caught her firmly in his arms, lips hard against hers, all rough rhythm and depth, heat and moisture. He was backing her against the wall, gripping her body tightly against him and pulling at clothing when the TARDIS doors flew open. Clara’s head spun at the sound, breaking their kiss and the Doctor let out a groan of complaint.

‘No,’ she explained, ‘Look,’

‘What?’ he was kissing her neck, nipping and marking.

‘Look!’ she pointed and reluctantly he glanced up.

The doors of the TARDIS of course still opened onto her bedroom.

‘Oh thank the Gods,’ he growled and propelled Clara from the room, backing her against the bed until her balance went and she fell onto the covers. He was immediately on her, hard kisses, wet kisses, fast paced and needy, his absolute desire blinding him to everything but the feel of her body. Clara yelped at the sudden demonstration of lust and strength as he rocked back just long enough to pull on her pyjama bottoms and remove them in one swift gesture. Then he was back again this time pushing upwards under her camisole, his practiced hands brushing over her breasts, holding her as his lips joined them there, tasting, nipping again, the noises in the back of his throat becoming ever more guttural.

Clara’s hips jerked involuntarily as his tongue brushed one nipple and she twisted her fingers into his hair. He was working her body thoroughly so that the string of unidentifiable individual kisses melded into one powerful onslaught of feeling. Every part of her screamed for his touch, every touch was like silk and fire at once. When his tongue dipped between her legs she felt a tremor barrel through the muscles of her abdomen and was suddenly grateful they were no longer standing as her thighs began to shake. The intensity almost unbearable she pulled on his hair and brought him back to her, her hands falling to his waist and quickly undoing the buckle and zip there.

‘You have too many clothes,’ she complained pushing his trousers down and quickly switching her attention to his shirt, praising various deities that she could control her hands enough to undo the buttons. She exposed his chest and went to remove the offending material but with impatience he stopped her, grasping her hips and pulling her firmly into position so that her legs wrapped around his middle.

‘Leave it,’ he growled, ‘Later,’ and his mouth was hot on hers again, his erection tantalisingly close to entering her. He adjusted his grip on the backs of her thighs and slammed into her, immediately releasing her lips and calling out involuntarily. The words came from an alien language but the tone told her everything she needed to hear at that second. He was overwhelmed, coming apart inside her, his body betraying his control.

‘Clara….. Gods…. Can’t….’

Clara felt herself tighten around him, intoxicated with the power of his need for her. Their thrusts already fast paced and erratic, the bed beneath thundering with the rhythm of their bodies.

‘Go on, _go on,’_ she panted, her hips and words encouraged him deeper, harder, challenging him to bring them both to their conclusion. She felt a sudden shift in her arousal, a bright fast escalation of desire with threatened to soar too quickly. ‘Oh God, Doctor,’ and she hooked her hands again into his flesh, gripping shoulders then neck, tangling in his hair. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed him onwards and she heard his breath give a tell tale shudder. She was close… close… _there_.

‘Clara!’ he drove hard and finally into her, his body bucking almost violently with release before his rhythm slowed quickly and stopped. ‘Oh Clara,’ he breathed, his weight settling over her, his face warm against her neck. She couldn’t hold back the smile as it spread wide across her face. And then it gained a giggle, and before she knew it she was laughing hard.

The Doctor lifted his head, a barely disguised look of offence in his eyes. ‘Did I miss something?’ he said, irritated.

‘No, no, oh I’m sorry, no I’m not laughing at what we did, not really, I just, I don’t know I’ve come over all hysterical. I mean I’ve never….. not _like that_ …. I didn’t think _like that_ was even possible.’

He looked at her carefully as though judging her truthfulness, ‘Really?’ he asked somewhat sarcastically.

‘Really,’ she nodded, ‘Oh don’t get grumpy, please,’ she caught his face in her hand and kissed him hard on the lips. He resisted for a second, maybe two, and then relaxed again. ‘But we do need to get you out of the rest of your clothes’ she went on, releasing him and gesturing to where his trousers still pooled round his knees. ‘You didn’t want to wait before.’

‘I _couldn’t_ wait, there’s a difference,’ he said. ‘Anyway you’re assuming I wish to be undressed I may wish to be dressed again. After all I’m technically well on the road to recovery, cured even. Purged of the virus.’

‘Should probably make sure though, right?’

The Doctor hesitated, his mouth slightly open, before leaning back onto the bed. ‘Yes I suppose you’re right,’ he conceded, ‘There may be a few… residual symptoms.’

‘I’m beginning to think you made this whole thing up, or deliberately contracted alien flu just to get your wicked way,’ Clara joked.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the Doctor reached for her quickly and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, ‘As if the TARDIS would have agreed to such a rouse.’

‘As if…’ she smiled, eyes shut.

In the console room the TARDIS burbled in protest. The Doctor shot it a warning look from his place in Clara’s bed.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
